Fire and Ice
by anonymouth
Summary: He does not doubt that she loves him; but there is a difference, he knows, between their love and the in-loveness of Harry and Ginny. And he knows that, unlike Hermione and himself, they are not living to the expectations of anyone but themselves...


_A/N: Written for The Reasons to Get Married Competition._

_I received 'Because it was expected of them' and 'they bring out the best in each other' I asked for two characters and received Harry and Ginny, but I couldn't get the idea of Ron and Hermione out of my head, and thought that a story incorporating the two relationships of the Trio's would be fitting...plus, I had a moment where I felt quite sorry for Ron after a little bit of a bashing in one of my other fics! I hope it meets requirements!_

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She has always been the sensible one. The voice of reason and intelligence served with a hefty portion of impatience and sarcasm. She has often been accused of being an unyielding pessimist, although adamantly insists that it is merely realism; break rules, get caught, get punished. She has never seen pessimism in that logic, nor any spoilsportness in pointing it out; it is merely truth and people should be aware of truth, and consequence of action before they indulge in it.

He has always loved her for it. Well, perhaps not always, not at first, and perhaps sometimes not so much love as feel exasperatingly infuriated by; but she is Hermione and this is merely one aspect of her multi-faceted personality, and because she is actually a beautiful person, he forgives her these small transgressions disguised as morality. Actually, on more occasions than he will ever admit, he is grudgingly grateful for her tendency towards extreme analysis, the process having saved him, and Harry, from death, or worse (to her, obviously), detentions on more than one occasion. But recently...recently he can't help thinking that perhaps she is as unaware of the truth of her own life, of the consequences of their actions, as she is as aware of everyone else's. That perhaps...perhaps she immerses herself in action and consequence of others; of their friends; in history; because she cannot, or will not, fully analyze her own. The thought nags more and more at his brain, and he doesn't think he's being irrational because, of all the things he has been called, an over-thinker certainly has never been one of them.

Hermione cannot play chess. He has seen her try, though she does not know that he has seen her, exasperated, quietly but quite violently threaten the chess set with various spells until the Queen almost - and that's what exasperates her more - almost cowers from her. No, she can't play chess. Truth is, he never really expected her to be able to. It's not that she doesn't have the brains, or the skill; it's that she lacks patience. She wants to win, in one move, and no matter how many times he explains the basics to her, she doesn't understand. But she tries to, for now, and for now; for him, it is enough.

He loves chess. He can't explain it to anyone; not eloquently like Hermione can explain things, anyway; but he thinks that's because the feeling is unique rather than because he isn't smart. He understands chess; or rather, understands that there are so many levels, so many intricacies that it is almost impossible to ever fully understand it. Every time he plays it's like slipping back into a childhood story, but the ending is subject to change and you have to work as hard at the game as you do at Quidditch to make sure the end result is one that you desire, regardless sometimes of the means by which you got there.

Hermione asked him, once, why he liked chess so much. He had blabbered and mumbled something cringingly banal, and she had nodded uncomfortably, as if she understood. He thinks of that moment now, and knows exactly what he would tell her. But she will not ask again. It is just something that he does, like she does books, and to her, there is no need now to question it further. She accepts him, but she does not understand him, and he has never pretended to understand her, but the difference is that he wants to. He wants to understand her, and talk randomly with her, not about the world, or politics, or even their friends; but talk about them, just the two of them, together. He wonders now if with great intelligence comes great stupidity, and/or ostrich-likeness - vaguely he remembers something said by the Sorting Hat along those lines - if, in his relationship with the brightest witch of their age, he was the only one that could actually see through its foundations.

He remembers the exact moment they got engaged, if only because of the fact that neither of them consciously did it. They had all been gathered at the Weasleys; everyone in the family, and everyone left of the Order, plus a few more. They were celebrating George and Angelina's engagement, Harry and Ginny's forthcoming wedding, and generally just passing the time together when Molly had cleared her throat.

"So, you two, when's your big day?" she had said as he had leaned over to fill Hermione's plate with peas. They had both frozen, both felt as though the whole room had frozen even though only Ginny and Arthur took more than a passing interest in the comment. He could see the myriad of emotions crossing Hermione's face, and as her eyes darted about before coming to rest on him, he could almost see what she was thinking.

"Mum, there's so much to do, you know, with college and training and stuff..."

Molly, surprisingly had nodded sympathetically.

"You're right, of course. A long engagement does make more sense."

And so, they were engaged. They hadn't been; had never even discussed it properly. In fact, now he thinks about it, they had never really discussed it then, either. They left together, naturally, and went back to Hermione's student flat.

"So...we're engaged." he had said, bumping her hip with his own as they walked.

"Hmm." she had replied, putting minimal effort into the smile on her face. "Sounds like we are."

There has never been a big fuss about their 'engagement'. He supposes it's because everyone just assumes they have always been; made for each other; never apart; like now, when no one can imagine Harry without Ginny, or vice versa. In a way they are right; they have never been apart, and perhaps they were made for each other; rescuing each other, helping each other; but even he realises that that does not mean they cannot be made for anyone else, either. Lifelong friendship sometimes ruins romance, not enhances it. That's what he thinks anyway, but he doesn't voice his opinion yet, because with Hermione, sometimes it was best to approach her in tentative bursts, and know when to retreat until the next time. He needed to get it all straight in his head before he could convince her to delve a little deeper into her own. Besides, he would only be called something decidedly unromantic, anyway.

He decides - well, not so much decides as accepts the glaring obviousness - that they will never marry. Not because it is expected of them, anyway, and he doubts that Hermione would marry him for any other reason. He does not doubt that she loves him; but there is a difference, he knows, between their love and the in-loveness of, say, Harry and Ginny. Those two would grow and blossom and develop into people who were as strong together as they had been apart. When they had first gotten together, Harry and Ginny, people had accused Ron of being unreasonable. The way he saw it then was not unreasonable; he merely wanted to protect his baby sister, his only sister, from a relationship that could only end in tears; it was, after all, with a boy who had nearly died at the hands of the same person at least once a year.

After the Battle...well, after the Battle was after the Battle, and nothing was as it was. Not even them, the three of them, as friends. And so when Ginny had kissed Harry and half the family had glared at Ron, daring him to say something, he had said nothing, merely shrugged and smiled in what he knew was a rather goofy, non-commmited way.

He knows that even Hermione is still not convinced of the development of his emotional maturity since the teaspoon comment, but just because he doesn't vocalise it, it doesn't mean that he does not see. He knows that Ginny and Harry are made for each other; that they complete each other. If he was prone to flights of verbal fancy, he would say they were fire with fire, flame for flame, even as they could be fire and ice. They bring out the best in each other, even when one of them is at their worst. Yes, things were expected of them, as the Wizarding World's new golden couple, the boy-who-lived-many-times and his fiancé. Ginny, the same as Harry, was now prone to fits of melancholy, but in these moments when their family despairs, he doesn't worry because he knows that there will always be an understanding between them; an acceptance of each other that transcended words. He knows that they will always be quietly, strongly together, whether surrounded by family, friends, or alone. And he knows that, unlike Hermione and himself, they are not living to the expectations or wishes of anyone but themselves, somehing which he admires and no longer feels jealous of; he takes this as a sign of his acceptance of the state of his own relationship. Now, he only has to wait for Hermione to accept the same, something which he will do patiently, and quietly, and when the time comes he will nod and smile non-commitally, and everyone will think that he is the same old Ron, who has never really thought very deeply about anything, anyway.

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**Reviews please :)**


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